


the bright side of you (the way i used to know)

by kwjs



Series: witchy!skz [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Witches, Other, Witches, Witchy!AU, bangchan the triple magick weilding witch, but yea welcome to skz as witches in the bayou, i'm not sure what to tag atm bc im still writing the installments for this, its a grand time out in the swamp, lots of magick lots of nature lots of finding family, so i guess overtime i'll add in more, woojin the necro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 06:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18337892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwjs/pseuds/kwjs
Summary: The day Woojin and Bangchan met was the day fate itself picked up a lyer and strummed a tune or two, surrounded by the heat of the bayou, the frogs’ vibrant croaking, the cicadas buzzing, and the soft murmur of the breeze over the water blending into the music that foretold their future seamlessly.The day they formed a coven together, making a family in the home they'd created over time, the world spun around at rapid speeds before slowing into a grounded, centered orbit, both of them humming in harmony a melody that would soon become the soundtrack to their lives.In the beginning, they were all one. In the end they had become nine as one. It was nice feeling.





	the bright side of you (the way i used to know)

**Author's Note:**

> Quick lil psa before you read this though, for this chapter there is graphic depictions of gore (kinda, I guess? depends on how you are with that) and lots of talk around death (Woojin IS a necromancer pfft) and implied references to suicide. So, take care of yourselves lovelies.~
> 
> Edit: I came back through, tried to find all my typos and fix up the work so I can add in more chapters, etc. I'm trying to finish Woojin's bday fic too so keep a look out for that this week. :D

The day Woojin and Bangchan met was the day Fate itself picked up a lyer and strummed a tune or two, surrounded by the heat of the bayou, the frogs’ vibrant croaking, the cicadas buzzing and the soft murmur of the breeze over the water, blending into the music that foretold their future seamlessly. 

It was a quiet, albeit humid, Tuesday. Woojin was sitting on his cabin's porch, watching the sun rise over the murky, dragonfly spinkled swamp that surrounded him on all sides except for one, which led up a hill and into the forest to the west. Woojin's left hand was wrapped in some gauze, his right hand holding a mug of chamomile tea he'd only just brewed despite having been awake for over an hour. He always rose before the sun, but often went to bed late, long after the sun had set; so late, in fact, that a single sound could be heard from the surrounding five miles.

That was one reason he loved living in the middle of nowhere, deep into the bayou. When the bayou went silent, it was only at a certain hour when all was dark; he knew then that he was trusted enough for the creatures to all go to sleep. The nature of the area had accepted him rather quickly as one of their own, often coming to settle on his porch or even at his window sills, watching him go about his work. In return for their kindness and peace, he would heal sprains and bruises, cleaning up cuts and often bringing animals back from the dead. 

It was an ecosystem that was not his, not one he was born into, and if he left tomorrow, would remain the same, that he knew. But he loved the idea that this was a home for himself, that he had made this a home for himself, and that, for as long as he was here, he was safe.

Currently, it was dawn, and Woojin had gotten some sleep after yesterday's mishappance (he'd tried to bring an alligator back to life; needless to say, he wasn't going to be trying that again, not for another decade at least) but he was still woozy from pain meds, so he treated himself with care, more care than he usually would have. His feet were propped up on an old, long since dead tree stump that his porch was built around. It made for a fine prop and table outside the confines of his cabin.

Not that Woojin felt trapped in his home, or even in this corner of the bayou itself. No, it was more that sometimes his senses felt. Wired. He'd be in the middle of doing a task, usually one that was relatively mundane, like washing dishes or other household chores, when his fingers would start twitching and his brain would slowly ease out of its flesh and cease to work properly. His arms would become numb, his back would ache, and he'd feel his mouth move as he sung a song to pass the time, but no coherent thought would form in his mind. 

He supposed that, after having lived for so long, his senses would need a break; deserved one, even if it meant going offline for a period of time. 

His magick had never bothered his physicality, or mentality, for that matter. It just was. Practicing in necromancy had always, and only always, meant three things: you'd spend more time around the dead than the living, you are not a god, and yea, the living will probably avoid you anyways. He'd been a child when he'd first realized his affinity with magick and the dead: he'd brought a rabbit back to life accidentally after finding it on the side of a road on the way to the park with his mother. His mother, bless her soul, had took it all in stride, singing him up for lessons with the local witch and supporting him, no matter how many parents said mean things to her. 

Necromancy was a refined, lovely art, for all its morbidity. Woojin learned as he grew older that the dead always wanted to rise back into the living. Life was a series of choices, and one of his choices was to never raise a human back from the dead; not even his own mother, of whom he missed so terribly that he secluded himself in another part of the bayou for almost fifty years. He only raised back animals. Mostly, he gathered the bones of the dead, performing rituals and helping to guide as best he could the souls to rest, hoping and praying that one day, he too would be guided well.

Today, though he would not know it until later, he would break three promises that he had made to himself over a hundred years ago. Today, he would secure his fate, and bring about a future he could never have dreamed of being possible. Today, he would get a taste of the beginnings of his own true happiness.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It all started to go downhill after his peaceful morning. Once all the birds were up and awake, singing their songs, harmonizing over and under each other, and the animals from the burrows crawled up to the floor of the earth, shifting through the brush and around trees, each and every creature of the forest making its way to start its day, only then did he rise from his chair, walking inside his cabin and clapping his hands together, ready to start his own adventure. 

When he said adventure, he meant cleaning his cabin, going through every nook and cranny to sweep away the dust and decay, opening up all his windows and letting sunlight and calm, bayou breeze drift inside, lightening the aura. Woojin made special care to clean and leave out to dry the many bones he’d collected since he came to reside in the bayou, even unscrewing several mason jars to empty out the contents. One shelf he refused to touch, knowing that disturbing what they held, even to clear their auras, was not worth it if his many spells and charms got jostled. At another time, when he could sit down and painstakingly go through each and every jar, adding magick to what bound each bone of the many odds and ends inside the glass, he would be able to clean them properly, but for now, the gentle aura that permeated the cabin would have to suffice. 

He was in the process of reassuring some heron’s bones that drying in the sun would be fine when he heard the scream. It was faint, as though it had echoed through the trees but from a much, much longer distance away than even the necromancer could have predicted, and trailed off with a sudden hitch. Woojin stiffened, his body tensing immediately at the first sign of danger. He raised his left hand before letting out a curse, remembering too late that he was still injured. Instead, he quickly walked across the room and picked up his staff in his right hand, before grabbing a cloak that hung next to the door and started to look around outside. 

There was a faint stench of death lingering to the west, where the forest sat atop the lonely and muddy grass covered hill. He started walking, figuring that whatever was out there was either already dead, something he could most likely handle even injured, or almost dead; or still lingering, searching for a way to claw its way back into the land of living, drifting aimlessly until its soul faded away entirely or someone found it and sent it to its eternal peace. 

The forest was quiet; quieter than Woojin would have liked, so he trekked through the underbrush a bit faster than he usually strolled, hastily making his way forwards as the stench grew and grew. As a necromancer, the dead had their own scents. Animals and humans would smell almost the same, though animals carried a sweeter, homier scent to them that Woojin both treasured and despised. Humans smelled like campfires, like they were winding down with activities to make smores and relax until their exhaustion drew them into the depths of sleep. But before death, before their souls had slipped from their physical selves, they both smelled the same, so the witch had no clue what he would find.

And what he found he had not expected at all. In his almost two hundred years of living he had never seen such a gruesome, murderous sight. Bodies layn strewn in a ravine, limbs ripped apart and torn into pieces until they were unrecognizable. Quickly the witch waved his left hand, sending the souls that still lingered into the afterlife. He stopped at each limb, caressing the flesh with gentleness, before moving onto the next. When he’d finished, he surveyed the area, taking in the blood and gore, before turning to trek back to his cabin. He knew that by nightfall many of the animals of the bayou would have cleaned out this place, and with all their souls gone, his duty here was done. 

Just as he reached the top he heard a soft, ever so soft, whimper. He stopped in place, right foot hovering just a harespace above the ground, waiting. Then, a few moments later, it came again, somewhere to his right just past the end of the ravine. The witch turned and walked, carefully picking his way up and over a tree log to find- well. This wasn’t what he’d expected, either.

There was another body lying next to a tree, head cradled by the roots that stretched out long across the forest’s floor. Their arms had long, nasty looking scratches with one particularly deep one on the left forearm that was still dripping blood. Their left leg was bent at a horrible angle, the lower half almost surely needing to be cut off entirely. What really drew Woojin’s attention, however, was their eyes, which were opened wide in shock at seeing the necromancer appear in their line of vision. As he drew closer, the injured figured struggled to sit upright, left arm, bleeding, out and in front of them to protect themselves. 

“Mmm,” Woojin murmured, purposefully lowering the tone of his voice to be gentler. “Easy, easy. You’re safe now.” Safe meant the injured one wouldn’t be hurt by anyone else; not that Woojin would be able to save them. But they didn’t need to know that. He crouched a few feet away, taking note of every injury he could see offhand before resting his gaze on their face again, watching as they stayed still, refusing to move an inch even though the necromancer showed to be no outward threat. 

He knew that most had never met a necromancer. It’d been a long time since he’d met one, and the last one he’d known had gone by the name of Yuta. He’d been older than Woojin by a few decades, and hilarious, but in the end he’d vanished one day and had never been seen of again. Woojin hoped it’d just been his decision and not a true, aching death, but he’d probably never know. 

Necromancers, if one knew what they looked like, were recognizably distinguished by a scar somewhere on their face, usually around their eyes or mouth, symbolizing being adept at guiding those that were not of their world in time of great need. Woojin’s was on his lower lip on the left, etching almost to his chin. He could calm one down one with a few, soft spoken words of comfort, letting the sound of his voice cradle the dead into eternal peace. He carried a traditional staff, bones and charms dangling from the self carved wood. At the top, which he clutched currently as he made to hang the staff across his back, was a bear’s head, his totem spirit guide. Each necromancer had a spirit guide, either a god or an animal or a spirit that came to them in a dream when those on the other side deemed them ready to receive their full title. He’d been twenty when he’d dreamed of a bear carrying him to the top of the mountain; unusual for spirit guide, rare that he’d been so young, all apart of his own fate.

The injured human in front of him widened their eyes further, seemingly recognizing a necromancer by appearance alone. If that hadn’t given himself away, perhaps the way the world was blurring away until it was just the two of them in this moment in time would have been another dead give away. 

“W-who are you,” the human managed to croak out, coughing up a small mouthful of blood. “Am I dying?” 

Woojin had learned it was better not to lie. “Yes, you are,” he stated firmly, watching as the human slumped, back against the tree, shoulders relaxing. “You’re relieved.” 

The human snorted. “Yea, well, I’ve been waiting for death to come to me for a long time.” Woojin watched as they drew their right leg up to their chest and propped their still bleeding arms across it, before lowering their head atop the pile of limbs they’d made. “This isn’t exactly the circumstances I’d had in mind, but I’ll take it.” 

The necromancer frowned. “A long time? How so?” His brain was spinning a thousand thoughts in his mind until he settled on a simple, albeit sad story: this figure was depressed, and had been hoping to commit suicide in some other, flashier way. 

“I’m over a hundred years old,” was not what Woojin expected the other to say, and he choked on his next inhale, shocked. 

“You’re what.” The human- no, the witch- smiled wryly, a dimple forming on one side despite the motion not being fully genuine. 

“One hundred and fifty-seven years to be exact.” Woojin raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m one hundred and ninety-three myself.” The witch gasped, before subsiding against the tree, coughing harshly. Woojin hastily reached forward, unthinking, brushing aside the silver-blonde locks before moving his fingers down to their chin, turning their head to side to check out the nasty looking bruise on their neck. The witch froze at the suddenness of his movements, whining deep in their throat. “Shh, shh, I’m sorry, I just need to see.” 

Even as he was talking, he was thinking about where this would go. The witch was on the brink of death; no amount of healing could possibly save them. It would take immense energy and being able to navigate that portion of the spirit world, neither of which Woojin had any experience in. But he knew the dead, he knew how to coax them up from the limbs of the world, ease their fears, and send them on their way. He had sworn to never bring a human back to life.

But- this person wasn’t human. They were almost as old as the witch himself; they understand the burden of having been alive for so long. And no one deserved to die when they believed that they did. Death was meant to be fated, either through peace or through panic, not chosen. 

Woojin decided that he couldn’t let them die. 

As the witch slowly eased out of consciousness, he crouched a harestep from them, working his hands around their body before heaving upwards, cradling their dying form in his arms. They groaned, a gurgling whine crawling up their throat. Woojin hummed quietly, adjusting their body carefully, tucking their head on his right shoulder. With body and staff secured against him firmly, he set off back to his cabin.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

By the time he reached the cabin, the witch had died. Woojin knew they would. There would be no saving them alive; but he could save them in death. He was a necromancer, after all. 

He was greeted with the sight of several of the bayou animals waiting at the base of the hill a few paces from his cabin, watching him as he made his way down and walked past, trying not to jostle the body in his arms too badly. Dead or no, the body was already badly enough damaged, the left leg especially needing to be stitched back into place. He'd prayed the whole walk back that it wouldn't fall off with the way both legs were swinging in time with his movements. 

Inside his cabin, he carefully splayed the dead body on his workspace table, thanking his aforementioned genius idea to clean today. If he hadn't, his workspace would’ve been a mess of bones and herbs. Some of the animals wandered inside, curious to see what he’d do. He shooed them back, but not out of the cabin; whether or not they stayed was no matter to him, only that they wouldn't be underfoot. 

He knew what he needed, despite only having done this once: in a jar, on his only untouched shelf, were some ashes. Mixed with herbs, and spread across a body while he chanted, he could bring a person back to life. But it took a lot of energy, much, much more than it would have with an animal. Animals still had their innate magick within them from their birth, being wholly and intune with the earth. Humans lived separate, and eventually, even witches, lost a lot of their innate powers, only to regain some when they followed the calling. Woojin quickly strode across the room, carefully grasping the clamp closed mason jar in his hands, before reheating the kettle and gathering his other tools.

First, he layed out what he would need: a large wooden bowl; a smaller, spoon shaped staff, similar in carvings to the larger one that was still strapped to his back; several bones he used specifically for intricate spellwork; and lastly, he gathered up some herbs from where he'd sun dried the newest batch at his biggest window that overlooked the bayou. He set out all of these on the corner of the table at the base of the body, and began to craft his spell.

When he'd last brought a person back to life, it'd been rushed, a panicked and frantic affair that left him bumbling over details. Now, he patiently chopped up the dried herbs, dropping them into the bowl before opening the jar, emptying all of the contents. He picked up one of the bones and snapped it in half, dropping the pieces alongside the herbs and ashes. As he worked, he murmured a soft incantation, thanking each and every ingredient for the help. 

With a flourish, Woojin raised his smaller staff and began to chant, letting his words roll off his tongue with practiced ease. He held an end in each hand, and, though his left hand was still bandaged, he allowed magick to ease out of his fingertips. He dipped them in the mixture he'd made before settling them on the body's forehead, carefully drawing a sigil there into the skin. Then he moved on to their wounds, the ones that had bled out and ultimately killed them, carefully sweeping all the way down to what was left of their left leg. He finished it off with picking up the remaining mixture with both of his palms and tossing them up into the air, letting them fall and settle on the body. Then, he drew in a breath and waited.

Necromancers were not gods. No, gods could do as they pleased; kill or be killed they usually lived by. Necromancers were born human, blessed to heal and help the dead, the often forgotten or abandoned. He loved his work, his practice, and did so humbly and quietly. 

This spell was not simply a spell: it was a request to the gods themselves, to grant them a small token of their power to bring someone or something back to life. He would owe them a favor, but he'd owed worse people favors; for all their cruelty, the gods were fair, in both their judgements and promises.

The kettle whistle blew, startling Woojin from his thoughts. He pulled away from his work, deciding the least he could do was make himself a cup of tea and try to relax his shoulders some. He didn’t even want to think about how he’d have to throw out his favorite shirt. There was no way these blood stains would come out; they never did, even with magick. He’d just set his tea bag in his mug and was about to pick up the kettle when he felt a zap and became paralyzed, limbs falling with a loud thud to the floor. He screamed, or so he assumed, as he hit the floor, body seizing and breaths becoming shorter and shorter. 

His mind became a prison; he felt like someone was reaching a hand through the bars that made up his skull and began twisting his brain around until- until he saw. He watched, in horror, as a group of people dragged a screaming, frantic person into his view. He recognized with a jolt that it was the witch he was trying to save, to bring back to life. Several of the people were holding canes or wands. They appeared to be apart of a coven, with the coven leader striding through the group. Woojin watched, horrified, when the coven leader struck the witch across their face. They did nothing to stop their leader, just stayed hunched over, accepting the pain being dealt to them. 

He figured they had left them for the dead, but as he watched, he realized he was very, very wrong. The witch raised their head, and magick sparked from both of their hands, and within seconds the coven was dropping, one after the other, as the witch ripped them to shreds. The coven leader was last, the witch pausing to whisper something in their ear before reaching a hand inside and ripping out the heart. They stood in the middle of the chaos, holding a bloody, still beating, heart, tipping their head back to look up at the sky.

Woojin watched as they began to cry, but he knew: nothing could undo what the witch had done.

Then he was being sprung forward in time, to where the witch was fighting a group in the ravine, where he’d found them. The witch couldn’t have won; they were already injured from something unseen previously, hunched over and clawing blindly outward. They released a spark of magick, ripping several of the opposing witches to shreds, as they’d previously done before. Before they could flee or kill the last of them, one of the witches grabbed their leg and twisted, hard, sending them to the ground, screaming in agony. They were beaten, canes ripping apart their arms as they defended their head. Then the two remaining left, leaving behind a trail of their comrades and their enemy, of whom they had rightly assumed would die with those injuries. 

There was a moment where Woojin was confused, uncertain as to where he was, until a voice whispered in his mind, “Is this who you want to save?” 

The gods were here, and had shown him the witch’s past. But Woojin didn’t care.

“Yes,” he stated firmly, knowing that he could never go back on this. He remembered the look on the witch’s face when they told him they’d die. He wanted to erase that look with a smile.

With a jolt he was back to reality. A fox was laying on his chest when he came to his senses, watching him cooly. Both of his arms felt like rods of metal had been placed inside of them, and his mind was still jambled from being yanked out of this world’s plane of existence and into the gods’. As he slowly began to regain feeling in his limbs, he heard a quiet, “Hello? Hello, what- oh my god.” And suddenly his whole line of vision was filled with a very worried, very silvery-blonde haired witch. 

Woojin smiled. “Ah good,” he managed to get out, coughing slightly as some of the ash that remained on the other’s forehead fell onto his face. “You’re alive.” 

“Yes, yes I am! How- you said I was dying,” the witch’s face was twisted up in an expression unreadable to the necromancer. The fox let out a huff and jumped off his chest. Without the weight he could breathe easier, and he took a moment to take into account of how his body was doing. Satisfied that he was aware of where he was and that his limbs could feel the cool floor, he moved to sit upright. The witch reached out behind his back and helped him lean against the counter before sitting a foxtail’s length away, waiting. 

“You did die. I brought you back to life.” The witch blinked, confused. 

“You brought me back to life? Why?” Why would you do that for a stranger who said they wanted to die? was unspoken but heard all the same. Woojin shrugged. 

“No one deserves to die when they feel like they should. They’re usually wrong,” he added as an afterthought, hoping it wouldn’t be taken the wrong way. He watched as the witch’s face went through several emotions before settling on a neutral, calm look.

“I can’t thank you,” they said finally. Woojin nodded, expecting nothing less. “But. But maybe one day.” The last of what they said was murmured quieter, so the necromancer didn’t acknowledge it visibly other than a soft smile touching the tips of his lips. 

“That’s alright. Can you help me up? I’m a bit weak after that.” The witch nodded, offering out both of their arms and carefully easing the other witch up, catching him easily when he staggered a bit. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like someone stabbed a hole into my brain.” Woojin laughed.

“Well, the feeling is mutual. Dying, and bringing back the dead, will do that to you.” He sighed with relief when the witch helped him onto his very large and very comfy sofa. “Oh, this is much better. Come, join me.” 

Tea long since forgotten, Woojin watched as the fellow witch settled on the couch, a bit away from him but not too far to make the older think they were uncomfortable by this arrangement, just wary. “How’s your leg? Is anything bothering you? Physically, at least.” 

The witch had settled back into the couch, said left leg stretched out between them both. “Body feels okay. Leg is sore but- healed? How?” Woojin smiled, thinking the pout the witch gave them from confusion was utterly adorable. 

“Part of the spell. Whatever my magick touches as I bring you back to life gets healed, not just your whole body. You’ll have some scars, but for the most part, you’re back to normal.” The witch nodded.

“Okay. That’s-” 

“Weird? Crazy? Abnormal?” Woojin didn’t mean to sound so bitter, to let those words slide from his mouth to bounce off the floor, but they did. The witch took it all in stride, unbothered. 

“I was going to say awesome, but I suppose those are some other words for it.” The necromancer flushed, embarrassed, but didn’t apologize for his words. Something told him the witch wouldn’t accept any apologies either way. “Do you live out here by yourself?” 

The change of topic was welcome. “Yes, I have for- oh, probably around ninety years, give or take.” The witch whistled in awe.

“Wow. That’s a long time to live alone in the bayou.” 

Woojin laughed, reached down to scoop up the fox who’d wandered back in. “Not alone, per say. Away from humans and other witches? Sure. But the creatures here- they’re my family now, whether or not we began that way from birth.” It was true. The fox, though usually wary of the necromancer, loved to curl up by his fire to sleep at night, or follow him on his long walks in the forest. Sometimes they’d sit in his lap, like now. Both witches watched as the fox turned a few times for tucking nose into stomach, falling asleep almost immediately. 

The other witch smiled, a true smile, eyes disappearing into the folds of skin and a dimple appearing on their right cheek. Woojin sucked in a breath, pleased beyond belief, and felt all the tension leave his body. This was why he’d gone through all the trouble to save someone’s life. While he stared, a thought occurred to him. 

“Oh! Oh, my goodness. I can’t believe it took me this long but,” he paused, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “We never had a proper introduction.” 

The witch’s smile grew bigger, if that was possible. They laughed along with the necromancer, a pure, giggly laugh that traveled up their spine into their fingertips that danced on the couch’s back and armrest. 

“No, we didn’t. I’m,” they trailed off for a moment, smiled becoming muted as a thought crossed their mind. 

Woojin, upon instinct, slid his hand on the witch’s thigh, squeezing gently. “That’s okay. Do you need a minute to decide?” He understood all too well what it was like to remake yourself, to choose a different name and having to get used to calling yourself that, to yourself and to others. 

“Well, I went by Chris but. I grew up being called Bangchan.” The witch- no, Bangchan- smiled wryly. “I haven’t had anyone call me that in a long time.” 

“Bangchan.” Woojin allowed the syllables to leave his mouth in one smooth, solid movement. Bangchan blinked, before relaxing into the cushions, smiling widely once more. “Yea?”

“Yea,” they replied.

“And you use..?” 

“They mostly. I don’t mind he but I would prefer they.” Woojin shrugged. 

“They it is. I use he but I don’t care about pronouns. Any is fine.” Bangchan nodded. “And I’m Woojin.” 

“Woojin,” Bangchan tested out, grinning as Woojin blushed. It’d been a long time since someone had said his name to his face; it’d been a long time he’d talked to someone other than the dead and the animals, actually. “I like it.” 

Woojin snorted, unimpressed. “Something tells me you like a lot of things.” 

“Hey!” But the fellow witch was smiling, swinging out an arm to playfully tap the necromancer’s, laughter keen in their voice. “I do, but your name is rather nice.” 

“Sure, sure.” Woojin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. And he realized-

He was smiling. Here, in the bayou, where he’d lived for almost a century on his own, where he’d gotten each day on routine, tending to the nature around his cabin and helping the dead, where he’d gaze out over the water and think that this was his life; he was now sitting on his own sofa, laughing with someone else. He felt like a piece he hadn’t known was missing had fallen back into place. 

Bangchan was watching him curiously as Woojin drew in a breath to speak. “Would you like to stay here, with me?” And then he waited with eyes closed, praying, hoping, pleading-

“Of course.” He opened his to see the witch smiling, silver blonde hair having fallen over his eyes in places, locks shimmering in the sunlight that was bleeding away into the sunset. “Of course I’ll stay.” 

“You don’t have anywhere else to be, right?” The necromancer, wanted to check, wanted to be sure. But the witch just shook their head, and he sighed, relaxing back into his sofa. “Then it's settled! You have a home now.” And as he watched the smile appear, sliding across lips and onto cheekbones and up to their eyes, Woojin realized this was what he’d been missing since his mother had died: a taste of his own happiness.

He could breathe again, and so breathing he did, his breath turning into a laugh at a joke, closing his eyes as he smiled up, up into the sky. He was glad to be alive, and one day, so Bangchan would be as well. He just knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof okay! So, welcome to my first Stray Kids fic I'm finally posting (not...having written, I have a lot of those saved to my google drive pfft). A few things before you go, if you will.
> 
> Firstly, this is based off an art piece I requested (and then forgot I requested) from an artist on tumblr. Please go check Roo out, they're an incredible artist and I really hope that this fic has some semblance to do this piece justice. Their blog is [prod3racha](https://prod3racha.tumblr.com), but here's a direct link to the artwork [here](https://prod3racha.tumblr.com/post/183884248354/witchywoochan-for-anon-what-originally-was-gonna)
> 
> Second, I was rotating between listening to The Sunday Sadness' album (titled the same) and also this playlist I made for this witchy!au of mine. I originally made it for the au as a whole but I think it might just be for Woojin + Bangchan's relationship aha. If you want to listen to the playlist, [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/stargyver/playlist/5gMEW1j0rVPS2zo0QXLSgp?si=J672EU2vQ2aKXz8m9vC3Vw).
> 
> Thirdly, I plan to post more for this au, hopefully soon; one is going to be a fic for Woojin's bday. (it's what I was supposed to be working on but I got distracted with inspiration for this instead aha). In these fics, skz is a coven of witches who all live and practice magick together. Everything is strictly platonic, though several of the relationships among them could be considered queer platonic relationships, depending on what/how I write it out.
> 
> Fourthly, since I know there might be questions about the magick/witchcraft in general, I'll explain a few things: 
> 
> -Necromancy and death magick is not considered taboo within the witch community, as most witches follow the code "An it harm none, do what you will". Those who don't, well, they're not really accepted as a whole. Woojin being a Necro doesn't make him an outcast- he kinda brought that on himself, with his mother dying and him isolating himself for 50 years, not taking care of himself well during that time, only to accidentally kill someone when he tried to reintroduce himself back to society.
> 
> -I chose the bayou as where Woojin lived because there's a song in the playlist called "The Chain" by Gustavo Bertoni, and it is definitely a song I could imagine being sung in the middle of the night in the swamp. It got my synesthesia excited aha ( and on that note I know that foxes are not native to the swamp but it plays a part in a later fic I promise bashfdhs).
> 
> -In this au I just decided it would be interesting to make witches somewhat immortal. Eventually the magick with run out, or something (disease, another creature, nature) could kill them, but for this au's purposes they can live for several hundred years. Most witches don't live past 500 years though.
> 
> -Its not mentioned in this fic but Bangchan having magick "spark" from both of his hands is very unusual. Woojin's magick coming from his left hand is mentioned briefly; I'm using his as an example. He technically practices two forms of magick, necromancy and bone/blood magick, but necromancy is his main concentration. Magick users can share magick with the world with one of their hands, that's how they do spells. Bangchan has two concentrations, which is rare, but even rarer is the fact that he actually practices three; he's proficient in the third but not the extent as the former two. I was originally going to just give him one (music magick) but then while I was writing this fic I realized that it made sense to have him practice several kinds of magick ("They call me triple threat; rap, dance and vocal I do it all" ahem). You'll get to learn more about his magick types in future fics.
> 
> Ok, I think that's everything! If you have any other questions, something I didn't explain that you were still curious about, or just want to say hello in general, you can comment down below or come find me over on tumblr, [@kimwoojin-s](https://kimwoojin-s.tumblr.com). I hope to be back with another for Woojin's bday, but in the meantime, thanks for reading, and stay safe lovelies!~


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